University of Virginia Library

CHANTICLEER.

In eastern skies the ruddy dawn is breaking;
Now shakes his pinion strong, his dames awaking,
The gallant Chanticleer:
Down leaping from his perch, and slumber scorning,
Thrice lifts he up his head, and thrice the morning
Greets with a lusty cheer.

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Like water from a hollow mountain springing,
Like silver chimes from out the steeple ringing
Thy song is, Chanticleer:
Glad tidings thou to sons of earth revealest,
To dreams and darkness an alarum pealest
Scattering their spectres drear.
The owl within her ivy watch-tower sitting,
The bat in air with drowsy murmur flitting,
They hide them, Chanticleer:
The famish'd wolf about the graveyard howling,
The midnight robber in the forest prowling,
They slink away for fear.
The larks, already of reposing weary,
Have quit their dewy glens as blithe and cheery
As thou art, Chanticleer:
What glee, when all the air with song they sprinkle,
A thousand plumes aloft with splendour twinkle,
The sun approaching near!
The housewife restless on her pillow turning
Thinks of her toilsome task and scanty earning,
Till warn'd by Chanticleer,
Her lamp and embers she prepares to kindle,
Then says her early prayer, and plies her spindle,
To feed the children dear.
The ploughman with his team goes whistling gaily;
Him from his pallet-bed thou callest daily,
Thou neighbour Chanticleer:

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With sturdy step the furrow straight pursuing,
The stubborn breast of earth with might subduing,
He renovates the year.
The huntsman for the field bedecks him trimly,
Tis time, he knows, altho' the morn shines dimly,
When croweth Chanticleer:
Soon shall he scour the mead, the vale, the dingle,
While hound and horn their noisy uproar mingle,
Sweet music to his ear.
All ye, that honour time and health and duty,
That love the balmy air, the morning's beauty,
Hearken to Chanticleer:
From him, ye sluggards, inspiration borrow,
Awake, arise, and dream not of the morrow,
For lo, to-day is here.
Me, friendly bird, among thy votaries number;
Thou rousest me from soft refreshing slumber,
Thy matin voice I hear:
I go to wander o'er the sunlit mountain,
I go to plunge me in the sparkling fountain
Thanks to thee, Chanticleer!